


False Advertising

by JordanUlysses



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Bookstore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 18:45:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17647940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JordanUlysses/pseuds/JordanUlysses
Summary: After a long and hard day at work Illya's gaze gets caught by a display when he walks by a bookstore.





	False Advertising

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siri/gifts).



First, Napoleon switched on the light. With a sigh he took in the mess behind the counter and in the store. He really had to talk to Ben about his work ethic. He had no problem picking up another's mess once or twice, but every time ... And as far as he knew, his colleague had no good excuse, he was just lazy and did not see what needed to be done.

It took Napoleon half an hour to get the store in order (a half hour he had come in early just for this), so he could punctually open the store at nine.

The next order of business was to make a big cup of coffee. Mister Jannowitz, the owner, liked to chat and have coffee with his customers, and Napoleon had taken over the tradition. Drinking a cup, restocking the shelves, the never-ending dusting and taking care of the few customers that stumbled in kept him busy the rest of the morning.

Lunch rush was as usual hectic. There were a lot of offices around and a few of the secretaries liked to come in for a chat. When it had quietened down again Napoleon closed up and went to eat his own lunch at the bakery next door, where he continued his flirt with the lovely salesgirl. The afternoon continued in a quiet way and he had a chance to catch up on his reading for his classes, until a few parcels were delivered that he had to sort and store away. Around five Mister Jannowitz called and told Napoleon about a number of titles he was to research and if possible order. That task was interrupted by the evening crowd, and when that had finally passed he managed a bite to eat and then went back to the catalogs. He would have to leave a note about the order for Ben, wanting to close up on time so he could continue writing his essay on Shakespeare at home.

The last half hour he started to wash up mugs and clean in the kitchen. There had been no new customers for a while, and so, as the bell rang a quarter to nine, he rolled his eyes but then put on a smile and went to the front again.

 

It had been one of the poorer days. First, Illya's experiment that he had prepared for a few weeks had gone wrong and so far he could not figure out why. And then, their mole in the new Thrush factory had been discovered and while they had managed to get the agent out, now they had to find another angle. Well, Illya had to. He kicked at a few leaves, turning the corner. To top it all off his car had broken down and he had been too angry to get it going again – so now he was walking home, through a part of New York he had not really been in before. He was hungry, angry and tired and as he came by a bookstore he was not really sure why he stopped in front of the window at first. Then, he spotted the matryoshka at the side of the display. He could not really see any Russian literature, but the sight was still a welcome one, even though it made his heart ache.

A bell rang quite loudly as he stepped inside. Taking off his hat he had a look around. The store was empty, the shelves filled and the tables stacked with books. The furniture looked old, but well-kept and Illya found himself relaxing in such a cozy atmosphere. He could not even remember when he had last come into a bookstore. Since moving to New York he had only worked, and the books he needed he could request at work. It had been far too long since he had picked up a novel, or a book of poetry.

“Hullo,” a young man appeared from a door behind the counter, a friendly smile on his face. Illya's first thought was that he looked handsome. Messy black hair, a jumper that was far too big, a dimple on his chin and quite a big forehead. But somehow it all combined into something attractive.

Illya swallowed hard before he returned the greeting.

“Are you looking for something in particular? Can I recommend you anything?” the man asked.

“No, I just want to have a look,” Illya declined. “But thank you.”

“Take your time. If you have questions …,” he let the sentence trail off and then took a ledger from beneath the counter, which he started to fill in.

Illya went to a random shelf, slowly reading through the titles. Soon he was absorbed.

 

Napoleon had copied down the days income, glancing at the customer from time to time. There was an unconscious happy smile on the man's face and somehow Napoleon felt so endeared that he let the time pass. The man was beautiful and Napoleon found himself studying his face. His hair, though it needed a cut, looked very soft, his lips full and eyes intense. There were creases on his forehead, and Napoleon wondered what had put them there.

When it approached nine he went back to the kitchen and finished cleaning up. Back at the counter he wrote a note for Ben and then watched the man again for a minute. He would still have to sweep and get the tables in from the outside, and count the money …

“Excuse me,” he approached the stranger.

“You don't have any Russian literature,” the man was looking up from a poetry collection by Robert Frost.

“Ahhh … we do have Tolstoy and I think Dostoyevsky as well. I can check if you want.”

“You probably only have their famous ones and I already read those,” the man said dismissively and returned his eyes to his book.

“Probably,” Napoleon replied, not quite sure what else to say when the man looked at him again sharply.

“There is a матрёшка in your window.”

“A …,” Napoleon glanced at the display. “That's true. I think Mister Jannowitz got in on a holiday, years ago, but I'm not sure.”

“It's false advertising,” the man said, and Napoleon could not help but laugh at his words.

“Sorry,” he said. “You are right, it is. I'm sorry we do not have what you are looking for.”

“It's fine,” another crease had appeared, but also a soft smile. “I should not have expected anything.”

“We don't have many Russian customers,” Napoleon said. “Are you from the Soviet Union?”

“Yes. And you?”

“Born and raised in New York,” Napoleon grinned and then cleared his throat. “Listen, I hate to throw you out, but we actually close at nine and ...”

The man looked at his watch. “It's fifteen past. Why didn't you say so?”

Napoleon shrugged. “You looked quite absorbed. Would you like to get the Frost?”

“I'm not sure I would,” he carefully placed the book back. “But I do want to get something … what's the last book you enjoyed?”

“I … oh,” Napoleon smiled. “Let's see …,” he only thought for a moment and then went to one of the tables, picking up a book. “'On the Road'. It's … it touched me, deeply. Have you heard of the Beats?”

“No,” the man said. “But I'll take it,” he nodded decisively.

“Alright,” Napoleon laughed again, “that was an easy sell.” He went behind the counter and got out some paper to wrap it in. The man had stopped at one of the tables and studied it, so Napoleon quickly took a pen and wrote a note on the inside of the wrapping paper.

“There we go,” he tucked the paper in securely. The man came over and handed him a bill, and Napoleon handed back the change and parcel. “Thank you,” he said. “I do hope you will enjoy it.”

“I'm certain. Thank you for letting me linger. It was a much needed reprieve.”

“You are very welcome. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Napoleon watched him leave, and then went on to close up properly, a smile lingering on his face.

 

“ _Enjoy the novel! And please, come back in a week or so – I will order some Russian titles, just for you. – Napoleon”_

Illya smiled as he read the note. He nearly had thrown away the paper, but caught sight of the sprawling handwriting. He carefully ripped the note off and put it inside the book as a bookmark – and a promise.

 


End file.
